


Kurdu Emnith

by Salvia_G



Series: A Mixture of Madness [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwarf Culture & Customs, M/M, Omake, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 18:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Bofur's celebration, from Bilbo's point of view.</p>
<p>While this might be able to stand on its own, I think you will enjoy it more if you have read "A Mixture of Madness" first.  So go do that first; go on now!  This will still be waiting when you come back...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kurdu Emnith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sra_danvers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sra_danvers/gifts).



> You may thank--or blame--Sra_Danvers for this, as she requested a chance to see what happened between Bilbo and Bofur in "A Mixture of Madness." It grew all out of control on me: over 8000 words! That's roughly equivalent to three chapters of the original story…

Once they were behind the tapestry curtaining off his little alcove, Bilbo looked to Bofur nervously.  Bofur had been a good friend almost from the beginning, so Bilbo didn’t know why he should be nervous now, but he was.  Perhaps it was simply—he valued his friendship with Bofur very much, and he didn’t want it to change, and...  Celebrating with his friends had not changed the way he viewed _all_ of them, and some—like Dwalin—it had repaired something between them that had been broken, but...

 

He didn’t think he would ever look at Kili and Fili the same way again.  In his mind, they had changed from the two young Dwarves they had been—Dwarves he was very fond of, but _young_ —too young, really, to be full grown Dwarves with sexual needs.  He had thought of them as tweens:  near grown, but thoughtless and playing at being grown up more than actually being adult.  But he could not ignore it now—they were warriors grown, with a male Dwarf’s needs, and they—he had seen for himself how much they wanted him, and he had wanted them in turn.  If he let himself think on it, he _still_ wanted them; so Bilbo did his best to avoid thoughts of Kili and Fili entirely in hope that his relationship with them need not change.  If he didn’t focus on his dilemma, perhaps these feelings would fade with time.  He was grateful, at least, that Thorin had not repeated his desire to court Bilbo since the day of his return to the mountain; he needn’t deal with that complication at least.

 

But Bofur...he valued his friendship with Bofur very much, and he _wanted_ to do this with him—he remembered how saddened Bofur had been when Bilbo denied him at first.  From the first Bilbo had thought Bofur a handsome Dwarf, if not in the same overwhelming way that Thorin was; he didn’t worry that suddenly he would look at Bofur and feel an attraction he had never felt before.  His friend was handsome, but it was only part of who Bofur was to Bilbo, and not the most important part either.

 

It was only that he didn’t want to feel nervous or unsure with Bofur; he didn’t want this experience to take away his comfort with his friend.  He needed Bofur to still _be_ his friend when this was over—first and foremost, his friend.

 

Bofur, of course, knew Bilbo well enough to sense that something was wrong.  He drew Bilbo to him and pulled him down to sit facing Bofur next to Bilbo’s pallet bed.

 

“Well?” he asked.  “What is it then?  Scared of what’s under the hat?  You wouldn’t be the first!”

 

Bilbo laughed.  “No, I’ll admit to being curious, but I’m not scared by a hat,” he said.  “It’s only—I want to remain friends—after, I mean.”

 

Bofur frowned.  “Have you—Did something happen that you didn’t want?  That you—I don’t know why we wouldn’t,” Bofur replied.  “You know it now, I hope—you’re part of the Company.”

 

“I do know it,” Bilbo told him.

 

“Why are you worried, then?” Bofur asked.  “I hope you know I won’t do anything you don’t want, and I don’t want anything from you that you don’t want to give.”

 

“I know that too,” Bilbo said.  Hesitantly Bofur reached out to take Bilbo’s hand in his.

 

“Can you tell me?” he asked.  Bilbo took a deep breath.

 

“It’s just that—I don’t look at some of the Company quite the same way,” he said.  “I didn’t expect it, and I’m not entirely sure I want it.  But it happened all the same.  And I don’t want to lose you.  You’ve been my best friend all along this journey.  That’s too important to me to risk changing.”  Bofur idly rubbed the back of Bilbo’s hand as he pondered that.  After a moment, he leant forward to place a kiss on Bilbo’s nose.

 

“Did that change anything?” he asked, and gestured with his free hand to his other hand, which still clasped Bilbo’s.  “Does this?”  Bilbo smiled.

 

“No,” he said.

 

“All right, then,” Bofur replied.  “Stop me if it starts to.”  He began to lean forward as if to kiss Bilbo again, but Bilbo stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest.

 

“What is it that you want, exactly?” he asked.  “I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”

 

“Fair enough,” Bofur replied.  He fell silent as he thought.  After a couple minutes, he spoke again.  “I want to thank you for sticking with us.  I want to be warm and comfortable with you, and I want to make you laugh.  I want you to know how much your friendship means to me.”

 

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Bilbo told him with a shy smile.  “Though that all sounds lovely.”

 

“It doesn’t matter so much to me how we get there,” Bofur said.  “Only that we do.”

 

“That’s fine, but—“ Bilbo moaned and hid his hands in his face for a moment before Bofur gently pulled them away so he could look Bilbo in the eye.  Bilbo wasn’t sure what he saw; but Bofur’s dimples deepened as the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, and then he pulled a sputtering Bilbo into his lap so that Bilbo sat with him like a little on his father’s knee.

 

“This is ridiculous!” Bilbo protested, and it was.  He was over fifty years old, not some faunt with a skinned knee!  But Bofur was not to be moved.

 

“Come on, then,” he coaxed.  “Tell Uncle Bofur all about it.”

 

“None of my uncles have ever looked a thing like you,” Bilbo informed him tartly.  “It rather takes away from the verisimilitude.  Especially the moustache.”  Bofur, however, ignored all that.

 

“So what happened, then, that you’re all in a fuss now?” he asked.  “’Cause I don’t think we’re gettin’ any farther ‘till you tell me.”  Bilbo hid his face in his hands again, but he thought about it as he did.  Perhaps it would help him to get past this if he told Bofur about it.  Perhaps in his previous celebrations, Bofur had experienced something like this before; he might have advice for Bilbo.  Bilbo sighed and took his hands away from his face.

 

“It’s Kili and Fili,” he said wearily.

 

“All right,” Bofur said.  “What about them?  Your celebrating with them, or something else?”

 

“The celebrations,” Bilbo replied.  “I...”  This was too mortifying.  How could he admit this to Bofur?  But Bofur seemed to find Bilbo’s pause a cause for worry.  He tilted Bilbo’s chin up so that Bilbo must meet his eyes.

 

“If they did something you didn’t want, either or both of them...” Bofur said.  Bilbo hurried to shake his head.

 

“No, no—not at all,” he told Bofur.  “It’s just—I think of them differently, now.  And I don’t like it.”  Bofur did not seem appeased.

 

“But neither of them took something you didn’t want to give, or has been bothering you since then?” he asked.

 

“No; no, it’s not like that,” Bilbo replied.  “It’s—it’s—“  He threw his hands up in frustration.  _How to explain it?_   “They’re grown,” he finally said.  Bofur’s eyebrows rose.

 

“I should hope so, that Thorin should bring them along,” he said.  “I knew it would be a venture with a fair bit of risk, and we’re all here safe now; but it’s a bit of a miracle we survived the journey, much less Smaug and then a battle like that one, in my opinion.  Surely you knew they were adults?”

 

“Ye-es,” Bilbo said.  “But—when they first came to my smial, they seemed so young—and Kili called me Mr. Boggins and wiped his feet on my mother’s glory box, and clearly had a bit of a case of hero worship for Dwalin; and Fili was not so...bouncy as Kili, but he also appeared very young to me, and obnoxiously smug the way tweens sometimes are; and the way they teased me about Orcs and sent me to rescue the ponies from the Trolls...I didn’t half wonder sometimes _why_ Thorin had brought them when it seemed to me that no matter how brave and skilled as warriors they were, they were youths.  And they’re certainly babes compared to the rest of you, barring Ori.  And I thought he was too young to come as well.”

 

“Hey now,” Bofur protested with a smile.  “I’m not so old as all that, yet.”  Bilbo wrinkled his nose at Bofur.

 

“I believe you know what I mean,” Bilbo said.  “The rest of you are clearly adults.”

 

“But now you know that the lads aren’t really lads, and that’s what’s wrong?” Bofur asked.  “No wonder you’re confused and upset; I’m certainly confused about it.  And I’m not sure—what does that have to do with us now?”  Bilbo sighed and let his head drop to rest against Bofur’s shoulder.

 

“I don’t see them the same way, and it was the celebrating that did it,” he admitted.  “I went in to it thinking of them as boisterous tweens that I was quite fond of—especially Kili, who was first—but—“  He sighed again.  “By the time they were done with me, they were both adults in my head; and I—I wanted them.  And I can’t think on it for wanting them still.”

 

“That’s the second time you used that word:  tween,” Bofur said.  “What’s it mean?”

 

“A Hobbit in his third decade is a tween,” Bilbo answered.  “It’s—tweens are nearly but not yet adult.”  Bofur shook his head.

 

“You Hobbits grow up young,” he told Bilbo.  “Don’t tell me how old you are for fear of putting me off the business entirely.”  Bilbo snorted.

 

“I’ve been grown a long time by Hobbit standards,” he said, “however many—or few, I suppose, by Dwarven reckoning—years have passed since my birth.  But if you’ll feel better about it I won’t mention the number.”

 

“I’m ‘fraid I would prefer it,” Bofur said.  “Else I’ll have the opposite of your problem, and go from thinking of you as an adult to thinking of you as a child, and then—there goes the celebrating.”  Bilbo snorted again, and then chortled; and then Bofur caught it and they were laughing and giggling together until Bilbo had to wipe tears of laughter away from his eyes.

 

“Oh, stop,” he said.  “No more—my jaw aches from laughing.”  Bofur widened his eyes comically.

 

“We can’t have that!” he exclaimed.  “I’m hoping to have other reasons for that jaw to ache soon enough!”  Bilbo tried to send Bofur a repressive look, but he was too busy giggling to succeed.  And after a few minutes their laughter died back down again.

 

“Do you see what I mean?” Bilbo asked.  “Why I’m worried?”  Clearly bemused, Bofur shook his head.

 

“I’d think you’d want to know they were grown if you were celebrating with ‘em,” he said.  “I’d think it’d be good to want ‘em.”

 

“But I _still_ want them,” Bilbo hissed at him.  “It won’t go away!”

 

“Ah, well, it hasn’t been that long, has it?” Bofur said phlegmatically.  “Sounds like _kurdu abùghud_ to me.  It’ll go away on its own, with time, if you want it too.”

 

“ _Kerr do ah boh goud_?  What is that, then?” Bilbo asked.  “Has it ever happened to you after celebrating with someone?”  He paused.  “What do you mean, it’ll go away if I _want_ it too?  Of course I want it too!”  Bofur shrugged.

 

“It means—I guess the best way to say it would be ‘ _fluttering heart_ ,’” he said.  “Sometimes when you celebrate with someone you do come to care for them a bit different than you did, and sometimes it’s a romantic way.  Doesn’t happen all the time or to everyone, but happens often enough, I guess,” he said.  “It happened to me a couple times, when I was younger.  Once I let it go, but once—once I tried for more.”

 

“What happened?” Bilbo asked.  Bofur’s eyes crinkled as he smiled his kind smile, though for a moment they seemed to focus somewhere else before his attention returned to Bilbo.

 

“Best twenty-seven years of my life,” he said.  “But after awhile another miner started courting her; and in the end, he won her.  Still have some fond memories, though.”  They sat in silence for a while.  It didn’t seem respectful to Bilbo after hearing Bofur’s tale that he should whine about finding two of his friends attractive when he didn’t want to think of them that way.  After a few minutes, Bofur smiled at Bilbo and squeezed his hand.  “I don’t think you wanted to hear about Aldríf, do you?”  Bilbo shook his head.

 

“Another time,” he suggested.  “I would like to hear about her, but later.”  For a time they sat in silence, Bilbo leaning against Bofur’s shoulder and Bofur’s arm gently pulling Bilbo into a hug.  Sitting like this with Bofur—Bilbo felt peaceful and content, and his worries about Fili and Kili began to fade away as well.  Whatever happened, he was confident now:  he and Bofur could do this and remain friends; it would only take a bit of care.  “Can we set a limit?” he asked.  “Decide what would be safe to do without changing our friendship?”

 

“I don’t think we should try to decide what would be safe right now,” Bofur said.  “What if we push further than you want because of something we said before we got into it?  So maybe we should just check in about it as we go?  Not that I’d mind if you caught the _kurdu abùghud_ for me, but if upsets you so much...  You should be glad you’ve celebrated with someone, not regret it.”

 

“I don’t regret my celebrations with Fili and Kili, I just...” Bilbo sighed.  _It was just going to be frustrating until he was over it, but he was tired of trying to explain it to Bofur.  And it wasn’t very fair to Bofur, was it, to spend his celebration fretting over other Dwarves..._   “Oh, confiscate it.  I don’t want to talk about them anymore.  Let’s try your suggestion.”  He looked expectantly at Bofur, who looked expectantly back at him.  “Well?” he finally demanded.

 

Bofur shook his head.  “Uh-uh,” he said.  “You’re starting, and you’ll be setting the pace for a while, ‘till we get past that worry of yours.”  Bilbo stared at him.  Every other Dwarf had taken the lead in their celebrations with him, and Bilbo had not expected anything different with Bofur.  He hadn’t really thought about it.  _What **did** he want:  to do, to say, to share?  Where should they start?_

 

“Take off your hat,” he told Bofur firmly.  Bofur didn’t hesitate, but removed his hat from his head and placed it with a mischievous smile on Bilbo’s own head.  Bilbo’s hands automatically went up to it.  Bofur’s hat was very warm and a little big on Bilbo, and he wished for a mirror so he could see what he looked like wearing it.

 

“How does it look?” he asked.  “Besides ridiculous, I mean.”

 

“Oh, if I can’t answer ridiculous, I can’t rightly answer,” Bofur replied, laughing.  “But it suits you anyway.”  Bilbo’s lips quirked in a smile and his eyes sparkled, though he tried to maintain a serious demeanour.

 

“I’ll start a new fashion when I go back to the Shire,” he said.  “Though I’m sure it’s not the same without the braids.”  He reached out hesitantly to touch Bofur’s braids.  “May I?” he asked.

 

“Sure,” Bofur said.  “Just don’t pull too hard; I thought Dori’d rip ‘em right out.  My head ached for days from it.”

 

“I’m not nearly as strong as Dori,” Bilbo informed him.  “And anyway, I wasn’t planning to pull on them.  Much.”  Gently he ran his hands down the braids on either side of Bofur’s head.  Bofur’s hair was surprisingly soft, and silkier than Bilbo had expected.  From Dori, he would have expected it, but Bofur—Bofur hardly seemed to care for his braids at all; Bilbo had thought that un-Dwarvish behaviour was half the reason for the hat.  But...Bofur’s hair was _lovely_.  Bilbo stroked his braids again and then gently pushed the shorter loose hair away from Bofur’s face.  As he was already on Bofur’s lap, their faces were quite close; Bilbo had only to tilt his face and lean up the smallest distance to press his lips to Bofur’s.  Bofur returned his kiss and his arms came up to wrap more firmly around Bilbo’s shoulders, but he didn’t push and he didn’t try to take control of the kiss.  Bilbo squirmed around a bit for a better angle and then kissed Bofur again, and then again; Bofur’s lips were soft and warm, and Bilbo’s hands stroked the silky hair that framed Bofur’s face as warmth began to slowly grow in his center.  As they kissed Bilbo had continued to twist and wiggle so that he and Bofur fit together better, and when he broke away to lean against Bofur’s forehead and pant for air he realized he now sat astride Bofur—still in his lap, but not as a child would sit in a lap; rather, as a lover sits on his love’s lap:  their bodies pressed chest to chest and his legs straddling Bofur’s.

 

He opened his eyes to chance a glimpse of Bofur’s face; Bofur was smiling at him, his laugh lines crinkled up at the edges of his eyes; and when Bilbo met his gaze he waggled his eyebrows playfully.

 

“Has it got you yet?” he asked.  “The _kurdu abùghud_?”  Bilbo giggled and Bofur’s smile widened.

 

“Not yet,” Bilbo replied as he shook his head and then he leant over to nip at Bofur’s earlobe.  Bofur hummed with pleasure and Bilbo let the warmth within him unfurl a bit more as he nibbled gently at Bofur’s earlobe again.  “So shall we continue?” he whispered against Bofur’s ear, and moved to trail ever so slowly down Bofur’s neck with his lips.  Bofur inhaled a quick, soft gasp and then another as Bilbo explored Bofur’s neck with his mouth, kissing and sucking and biting at Bofur’s warm skin.  His hands moved down to Bilbo’s hips, clutching and gripping, pulling Bilbo snug against him; and instinctively Bilbo rolled his hips against Bofur’s.  They moaned in tandem, and then laughed a bit to hear it—well, Bofur laughed; Bilbo feared he giggled—but then Bilbo moved up Bofur’s neck to suck on his other earlobe, and Bofur gasped and rolled his hips up against Bilbo’s in reaction; and a growing lust chased away their laughter.

 

And quickly, so very quickly, it wasn’t enough.  _I want skin,_ Bilbo thought, _I want my hands on his skin._   His hands left Bofur’s soft hair to drop to his vest; Bofur’s head fell back and he made no motion to help, but Bilbo did not need help—he had the vest pushed off Bofur’s shoulders and arms in a trice, and the fastenings of Bofur’s coat proved to be no trouble at all.  But then Bilbo did begin to run into trouble.  Under Bofur’s jacket was a tunic of traditional Dwarven design, laced rather than buttoned to close at the neck.  Bilbo could loosen the laces, but they didn’t go all the way down the shirt, and Bofur wore yet another layer of clothing underneath it.  Nor had Bilbo bothered to remove Bofur’s belt, so the shirt wouldn’t budge when Bilbo tried to pull it up and over Bofur’s head; and his layers were beginning to bunch up around Bofur’s waist, creating a lumpy barrier between them.  Bilbo cursed.

 

“Bother these clothes of yours,” he said petulantly.  “How many layers are you wearing?”

 

Bofur laughed.  “Why don’t you have a go at your own buttons and I’ll take care of mine?” he suggested.

 

“Oh—excellent,” Bilbo said.  “What an excellent idea.”  He pushed back off Bofur’s lap to give him room to untangle the mess Bilbo had created and shrugged off his own coat before beginning to unbutton his shirt.  His chest was bare before Bofur had finished unbuckling his belt and Bilbo sighed impatiently.

 

“How long must it take you to dress?” he asked.  “No wonder you all sleep in your clothes.  Though I can’t think it’s very comfortable, and I don’t know how you’re not roasting in all those layers.”  Bofur finally managed to undo his belt buckle and his jacket and vest fell to the floor.  Bilbo helpfully pushed them aside as Bofur pulled his tunic over his head; the layer underneath appeared to be the last layer—those loose, one piece undergarments Bilbo had thought looked rather silly when he had seen them before—at Rivendell and Beorn’s, and various other places along the journey.  But it buttoned, and Bilbo knew how to deal with buttons; so he knelt on Bofur’s lap again and began to work the buttons out of their buttonholes one by one.

 

“On the other hand, I don’t know why you haven’t been frozen solid this entire time,” Bofur replied as he unwound the scarf around his neck and pulled off his knitted arm warmers, “wearing hardly anything as you do.  And some of it so thin.”  He fingered the fine cotton of Bilbo’s shirt and then inhaled sharply as Bilbo finally managed the last of the buttons and slipped his hands inside Bofur’s last layer to rest gently on his abdomen.

 

“I was cold, especially once we crossed the Mirkwood,” Bilbo said.

 

“Your hands are still cold,” Bofur complained.

 

“And you are lovely and warm,” Bilbo told him.  “It’s quite nice.”  He wrapped his arms around Bofur and pulled his body close, so that they were skin to skin at last; and then he lowered his head to begin to mouth at Bofur’s collarbone.

 

“Aah,” Bofur sighed.  “Quite nice, yes; I see your point.”  His own hands roamed up and down Bilbo’s back, gently kneading at the muscles there, before dropping down to Bilbo’s hips.  Bofur’s touch seemed hesitant at first, but when Bilbo made no protest, his hands pulled their hips together firmly.  Bilbo rolled against him in response, then pushed Bofur back so that he lay on the bed with Bilbo seated on top of him; Bofur went down easily and smiled at Bilbo as his hips bucked up against him.  Neither had removed any clothing below their waists, so there were many layers between them, but Bilbo thought he could feel Bofur’s cock hardening beneath him nevertheless; and he remembered what Bofur had said to Nori those many nights ago, when Bilbo had been so shocked to learn what the Company wanted of him.  _My mattock is bigger than your mattock_ , Bofur had told Nori; and by the feel of it, it seemed he had not been lying.  Bilbo wanted to see it—but all in good time.  He had hardly begun.  He ran his hands from Bofur’s waist to his shoulders and bent down over him so he could suck and tongue at Bofur’s left nipple.

 

“Not yet then,” Bofur said hoarsely, “the _kurdu abùghud_?”

 

Bilbo lifted his mouth off Bofur’s chest only long enough to murmur, “Not yet,” and then he trailed kisses across to Bofur’s other nipple to bite and lick at that one.  Bofur’s hips began to rock up again and again in a steady rhythm.

 

“Oh, good,” Bofur gasped, “Glad to hear it.  Carry on then.”  His back arched, his head thrown back, Bofur panted as Bilbo’s mouth moved on his chest and hips flexed in time with Bofur’s.  His hands remained at Bilbo’s hips, massaging firmly; but he made no attempt to wrest control from Bilbo.  “Only, give us a kiss, would you?”  Bilbo smiled against the skin covering Bofur’s ribs.

 

“I am kissing you,” he said.

 

“And lovely kisses they are too; I’d quite like one for my lips,” Bofur replied, and his voice took on a pleading tone.  “Please, Bilbo.”  Bilbo pretended to feel put upon as he stretched out on top of Bofur to reach his mouth.

 

“Very well,” he groused.  “Only because you asked so nicely.  Good manners in Dwarves should be encouraged.”  Bofur met his kiss eagerly, wantonly, and soon enough his hands slid round from Bilbo’s hips to his buttocks; Bilbo could feel their cocks sliding against each other and wished all the layers between them away.  He broke away from their kiss; Bofur protested and lifted his head to follow, but Bilbo scooted back out of reach to sit on Bofur’s thighs.  As his hands went to the fastenings of Bofur’s trousers, Bofur whimpered quietly.

 

“Oh,” he moaned, “never mind me; you’re doing fine.  Kissing can wait a moment.”  Bilbo laughed as he began on the buttons of Bofur’s odd undergarment and purposefully brushed against his cock through the fabric just to feel Bofur shudder beneath him.  When he finished with the buttons and pushed the placket open, he thought he might be the one who should begin to whimper and moan.  Bofur’s erect cock did stand long and tall against his belly.  _Stars,_ he thought.  _It’s so long_.  _It’s longer than Thorin’s or Dwalin’s—though perhaps not so thick._   It was as intimidating as it was arousing.  “Please, Bilbo,” Bofur begged.  “Oh, please—please—“  Bilbo took pity on him and wrapped a hand around his long shaft, pulling gently up and down.  Bofur thrashed, his head moving from side to side, his hips undulating with every motion of Bilbo’s hand.

 

“Just look at you,” Bilbo said.  He lowered his head so that his breath kissed against the crown of Bofur’s cock and then he ran his tongue slowly from slit to root, where he sucked gently as Bofur muttered nonsense in Khuzdul—at least, Bilbo couldn’t understand him; perhaps he was reciting epic Dwarven poetry.  He giggled a bit at the thought, and Bofur recovered enough sense to switch to Westron.

 

“Now, is it nice to laugh at a fellow when you’re down there like that?” he asked hoarsely.  “Oh, Mahal, Bilbo—please don’t tease, please—“  Bilbo laughed again.

 

I’m not laughing at you,” he explained, and replaced his mouth with his hand so that Bofur still shook under his touch.  “Only:  you were speaking Khuzdul, and I thought:  you could be reciting the Lay of Durin the First for all I know.  And I thought it was funny.”  He bent again to suck just the head of Bofur’s cock into his mouth for a few moments before he popped off to say, “And I don’t see how this monster is _possibly_ going to fit.”  He sucked in Bofur’s crown again, and then took in as much of the shaft as he could, though even with his hand fisted around the base of Bofur’s cock he couldn’t reach from his lips to his fingers.

 

“Ah, Mahal—ah, oh—“ Bofur panted.  “Just—hard to think when you’re—ah, _ah_ —when you’re doin’ that— _ah, Bilbo_ —“  He moaned and his hands clenched in Bilbo’s hair, though he was careful not to pull.  “So sweet, so sweet, your beautiful mouth—“ and then he was back to the Khuzdul.  He was quiet, though, as he babbled in Westron and Khuzdul both—not silent like Nori had been, but for all his body writhed and it seemed he could not control his words, the level of his voice never rose. 

 

“Ah, ah, oh—stop, Bilbo; oh Mahal, _oh_ —wait; stop; I want—“  It took a moment for Bilbo to realise what Bofur was saying, but when he did he immediately pulled his mouth and his hand off Bofur.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, moving up so he could lie down with his body against Bofur’s, stroking his hair away from his face with his hand and dropping gentle kisses on his shoulder and neck.

 

“No, no,” Bofur gasped, and Bilbo could feel Bofur’s body trembling yet against his own.  “It’s just—oh, the _mouth_ on you, Bilbo; I was going to come but I’m not ready.”

 

“Hmm,” Bilbo hummed as he traced Bofur’s collarbone with his tongue.  “Want to be inside me, do you?”  He kissed his way back up to Bofur’s neck, and then to his mouth; and they lost themselves in kisses for a while.  But then Bofur pulled away so that he could meet Bilbo’s eyes, and his face was serious.  Bilbo suspected his bewilderment was visible in his own eyes, but he only carded his fingers through Bofur’s hair and waited for him to speak.  Bofur sat up and turned to face Bilbo, who rolled over and pushed up on an elbow to meet his gaze.

 

“The _kurdu abùghud_?” Bofur prompted.  Bilbo sat up as well and slid his hands around Bofur’s neck.  He thought about it for a while as he looked at Bofur.  Bofur was as handsome as ever, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners, his lovely mouth framed by his striking moustache.  His mouth was hot and his hands were tender and when he lost himself in his passion, he was lovely.  But first of all, best of all, he was Bilbo’s friend—his good, good friend.

 

“I think we’re fine,” he said.  “I think we can go as far as we like without fear.  So then:  what would you like?”

 

“May I?” Bofur asked, his hand hovering at Bilbo’s waist.  Bilbo felt his eyebrows go up as he nodded.

 

“Of course,” he said, lying back down on his back.  Bofur shook his head once, as if in disbelief; and then he moved to kneel at Bilbo’s hips.

 

“I want these off; I want to see every inch of you,” he said, gesturing to Bilbo’s trousers.  Bilbo nodded and began to unbutton them, and when the fastenings were undone he lifted his hips and Bofur helped him slide the last of his clothing free so that Bilbo lay nude before him.

 

“Aah,” Bofur sighed, but he did not yet touch Bilbo, only reached his hand out, still hesitant for a moment before nodding decisively and moving towards Bilbo as if to straddle him...but it seemed he had been so intent on Bilbo that he had forgotten his own clothing.  He lost his balance and fell across Bilbo, only barely avoiding planting his elbow on Bilbo’s stomach; but enough of his weight did land on Bilbo so suddenly that Bilbo lost his breath.

 

“Get off, you great Troll,” Bilbo protested when he could breathe again, and he gestured towards Bofur’s trousers where they trapped his thighs together.  “And take those off before one of us is hurt.”  He paused before adding, “More.”  Bofur rolled off of Bilbo so that he could sit up and push his garments off.

 

“Sorry,” he said, and at the same time Bilbo cried, “Start with your boots, Bofur; don’t think you’ll be leaving those on!  Not on my bed!”  Their eyes met and they began to laugh.

 

“What do you have against my boots?” Bofur teased as he began to pull them off.  “I hardly feel like a Dwarf without them!”

 

“That needn’t be a bad thing,” Bilbo told him tartly.  “I never wear them myself; and given the amount of mud you track around in them, I think you Dwarves might try going without!”  Bofur had finally pulled both boots off and tossed them carelessly aside, and he wiggled his knit-covered toes at Bilbo.

 

“But my dainty Dwarven feet,” he said as he smirked and began to crawl back to where Bilbo sat watching him.  “I couldn’t walk one mile without my boots.”

 

Bilbo tsked as he leant back on his elbows before Bofur’s advance, but his smile grew as he did so, until Bofur loomed above him and Bilbo was grinning widely.  Bofur’s smile changed a bit as his eyes grew hot and roamed up and down Bilbo’s body.

 

“What would you like?” Bilbo asked him again breathlessly, stretching to try to kiss Bofur; but he moved out of reach.  His friend’s smile changed again, to that mischievous grin that meant trouble.

 

“I want to explore a bit,” he said, “Prospect; see what I can find, maybe.”  He leant down so that Bilbo could finally kiss him, open-mouthed and wanton.  And then he broke away to whisper in Bilbo’s ear.  “And then I want to ride you, slow and easy; a nice, long ride until neither of us knows how to speak anymore.”  Bilbo caught his breath.  _He wanted to..._

 

“I’ve—I’ve never been on that side of things,” he confessed.  “I haven’t really—it was only with Thorin that I—“  And what they had done thus far, he and Bofur—this much Bilbo had shared with others, but that—that he had only done with Thorin.  He wondered if perhaps it would make more of a difference than he knew; he didn’t know if he was prepared to go that far with Bofur.  “Why?”

 

“Why do I want that?” Bofur clarified, and Bilbo nodded.  “Do you remember what I said before, about what I wanted?”  Bilbo thought about it.

 

“I think so,” he replied.  “You said you wanted to thank me and be comfortable together and warm, and to laugh.”  He could feel his lips curl up at the corners.  “We’ve certainly laughed.  And I have felt comfortable and warm both, and sharing this closeness with you—this is thanks enough for me.”

 

“Aye, we’ve laughed; and it’s been warm enough and there’s been comfort enough, I guess...  And I’m pleased you’re happy, though I don’t think any of us could thank you equal to what you’ve done for us, not if we had a hundred nights of celebration to do it in,” Bofur disagreed.  He dipped down low enough to rub his nose lightly against Bilbo’s; it was an oddly intimate gesture—not erotic, not even particularly sensual, but—intimate—close and tender and affectionate, as this whole evening had been.  If Bilbo had tried to imagine what it would be like with Bofur, he didn’t think he would have thought it would be like this:  it was joyous laughter and tender passion woven together into one whole cloth.  The laughter, Bilbo could have predicted, as well as the kindness; but the heat between them was more than he had expected.  He found he wanted what Bofur offered; he wanted it greatly, but he did not want it out of gratitude.

 

“I love you dearly, Bofur,” Bilbo confessed quietly.  “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend such as you in all my life.  I don’t need or want thanks for being your friend; your friendship is more than gift enough in return.”

 

“So let me give this to you,” Bofur coaxed, and now he did turn to kisses—though he skirted Bilbo’s mouth in favour of his nose and cheeks and forehead.  “Because you’ve forgotten the part that’s most important to me; and this is the way I’d like to do it, if you’re willing.”  Bilbo tilted his head back to expose his neck to Bofur’s attentive lips.

 

“What did I forget?” he asked.  “Because you’re right; whatever it was, I’ve forgotten it.”  He leant back flat on the bed so that he could again run his fingers through the soft hair framing Bofur’s face.  Bofur followed him down so that their bodies lay flush against each other, with only enough space between them for Bofur to look down and meet Bilbo’s eyes.

 

“I want to show you what your friendship has meant to me,” he said.  “This is how I’d like to do it.  It’s as much for me as it is for you, really.”

 

“Bofur...” Bilbo whispered.  The whole conversation had begun to take on a hushed tone; Bilbo felt like a louder voice might rudely break apart this warm and laughing and loving space they had created for each other.

 

“It—I’ve never had a friend like you either, you know,” Bofur said.  “I want to—for this one night I’d like to be with you without any barriers between us.  I’d like to give you all I have to give.”  And now he did kiss Bilbo’s mouth, and as Bilbo let every bit of the love he felt for his dear friend flow into the kiss...he could feel that Bofur returned that love in equal measure, and he didn’t want to deny him anymore.

 

“Yes,” he whispered against Bofur’s mouth.  “Yes, please...”  He could feel Bofur smile; but he didn’t reply, only continued to kiss Bilbo, and their kisses grew deeper with each moment.

 

He did not spare any part of Bilbo in his “exploration,” either; but his friend seemed as content to make Bilbo laugh as to make him gasp, and that laughter helped to ground Bilbo so that he was not overwhelmed.  When Bofur finally decided it was time to stretch himself for Bilbo’s cock, first he had to scramble to find the small jar of oil he had brought with him; and he and Bilbo both giggled as he searched every pocket of every piece of clothing he had before he found it, and he had to turn his jacket almost inside out before he did.  But then he lay back on the bed with his oiled fingers working into his body, and although he smiled at Bilbo still, his body trembled as well; and Bilbo felt as much anticipation as trepidation as he watched him.

 

His nerves must have shown on his face, for when Bofur sat up and moved to straddle him, he paused for a moment and then sat on the blankets facing Bilbo instead.

 

“If you’ve changed your mind, you only have to tell me,” Bofur said.  “Whatever I want to do, I first want to be sure we don’t push too far for you.  That’s a quicker way to ruin a friendship than an unwanted _kurdu abùghud_.”  Bilbo shook his head as he took Bofur’s hand.

 

“I do want this,” he told his friend.  “I will admit that I am surprised by how much I want this.  But I’m afraid I don’t know what I’m doing, and I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”  A knowing smile began to grow on Bofur’s face and he pushed gently at Bilbo’s shoulders until Bilbo was flat on his back once more.

 

“You’ll just have to trust that _I_ know what _I’m_ doing,” he said as he knelt across Bilbo’s thighs without ceremony.  “And this...”  He paused to take Bilbo’s flushed cock in hand, “This isn’t anything I can’t handle.”

 

Bilbo huffed.  “I think I should probably be offended,” he said.

 

“Oh, no,” Bofur disagreed.  He lifted up so that Bilbo’s cock was beneath him and ever so slowly began to work his way down onto it.  “This is you all over—not intimidating to see, so it’s a bit misleading, for it’s— _ah_ —bigger than it seems at first glance, and—“  He sunk to the hilt and began to slowly roll his hips, and Bilbo couldn’t help but moan.  He felt _so good_ , hot and close, and he moved in a perfectly steady rhythm above Bilbo, though he gasped for breath before he continued to speak.  “And then— _mm_ —amazing.  Perfect.  _Ah—_ just what you’ve always wanted but never knew it.”

 

Bilbo’s hands had found their way to Bofur’s hips, and his body rolled in time with Bofur’s:  a slow, steady rhythm that felt good without overwhelming him; and over time it filled him with an ever growing want, until he thought he might go mad from it—from growing ever closer but never quite getting there.

 

“I— _ah_ —liked it the other way, too,” Bilbo gasped out, “but— _ah, Bofur, ah_ —“  His words trailed off; he couldn’t think well enough to string his words into sentences, so he gave up and simply moaned quietly with every rocking movement Bofur made.  “ _Ah—ah—ah—_ “  His hands clenched on Bofur’s hips as he tried to speed their rhythm, but Bofur was strong enough that Bilbo couldn’t move them faster against his wishes, and he held them to the same gentle pace.  Bilbo gathered enough of his wits to beg.  “Please—Bofur—so good, so good— _ah—oh_ —I need; I need— _ah—_ “

 

“You’re— _mm_ —losing your words faster than I thought you would,“ Bofur teased him.  “Maybe I should— _mm_ —should stop a while— _mm_ —stop so you can recover.”

 

“Don’t—don’t— _don’t_ stop; _don’t stop_ ,” Bilbo moaned.  “ _Oh stars Bofur, don’t stop_.”

 

“ _Mm—_ nice and slow,” Bofur said, and he had such want in his voice that Bilbo didn’t know how he could resist riding hard and fast to the finish.  “Slow and easy, just like this.”  Bilbo could only moan in reply.

 

It seemed to last forever, this rolling heat, and after a time Bilbo gave up on trying to speed Bofur just as he had given up on speech; he lifted his hips in time with his friend’s and didn’t try to hurry their climax.  It was difficult at first, but then he seemed to catch the way of it; it wasn’t about chasing the ending ecstasy, but about creating a steady smouldering; it was as good in its own way, and it—it was never ending; it was only him and his dear friend and this constant heat, and though Bilbo had not realized it at first, they were climbing slowly but steadily toward an inevitable crest.  And then he reached that crest, and it was so good that he was blinded by the incredible ecstasy of it.  As Bofur rode him through it at the same steady pace he seemed to sense when Bilbo couldn’t take much more:  he suddenly moved hard and fast two, maybe three times, until he was coming too, shooting his release across Bilbo’s chest.

 

Bilbo didn’t know how long he lay recovering on the bed; he could do nothing but pant as Bofur let himself collapse on top of Bilbo at last, but it was hard to breathe under Bofur’s heavy weight.  He pushed ineffectually at Bofur’s shoulders.

 

“Get off; I can hardly breath, Bofur; I’d swear you’re made out of rock,” he said.  Bofur moaned in protest but he rolled off of Bilbo and then pulled Bilbo close so that he was tucked against his side.  He seemed just as overwhelmed in the aftermath as Bilbo for a few minutes; but he must have recovered faster, for he began to speak while Bilbo could only lie bonelessly next to him.

 

“If you don’t have the _kurdu abùghud_ after that, I give up,” Bofur told him.  “I gave it my best shot, Bilbo m’lad.”  Bilbo could hear the smirk in his voice; he would have to hit him as soon as he could move his limbs.  Bofur rolled on his side to face Bilbo, wrapping both arms around him as he did.  “And if you didn’t give it your all, then I don’t think I could survive it if you did.  You beg so sweetly.”

 

“As soon as I can move, I’m going to finish what Dori started and pull those braids out by the roots,” Bilbo informed him.  “Don’t go anywhere.  I think it’ll only be another hour or so.”  Bofur laughed as he leant over the few inches necessary to bring his forehead to Bilbo’s temple.

 

“I’m not going anywhere on my own,” he said.  “The only question is will you be kicking me out or will Thorin be storming in eventually to throw me over the Gate.”

 

“Don’t joke about it, Bofur,” Bilbo said, but he was still too relaxed to be truly put upon.  “It was terrible at the time and it’s not funny now.”

 

“It’s a little funny now,” Bofur disagreed.  He nuzzled his hat up a bit—Bilbo was surprised to realise that he was still wearing it—and pressed a kiss or two to Bilbo’s temple.

 

“You thought it was funny to tease me about being incinerated by a Dragon,” Bilbo retorted, but he turned his face towards Bofur so that he could mouth lazily along his jaw.  “Your sense of humour is suspect.”

 

“ _My_ sense of humour is suspect!” Bofur protested.  “Who responds to a Dwarf King’s queries about his skill in battle with a joke about _conkers_?”

 

“A Hobbit,” Bilbo said, and then yawned.  He meant his tone to be tart, but he thought the yawn probably diminished the effect.  “One who had never before left the Shire; one who had held neither axe nor sword; and never thought to, either.”  He rolled onto his side as well and wriggled so that Bofur was pressed perfectly up against his back and tugged the furs they had kicked aside earlier over to cover the both of them.  “You were all terrible that night, each and every one of you—even Ori and Balin were badly behaved.”

 

“In our defense, a Dwarven host would have been more welcoming,” Bofur said.  “The feast was bountiful, but you made us feel a bit like we were stealing your food, you know.”

 

“You _were_ stealing my food!” Bilbo exclaimed; and though he was warm and comfortable where he was, he was so annoyed that he rolled over so that he might prop himself up on an elbow to stare disbelievingly at Bofur.  “Do you mean to tell me that you thought all this time—that you thought then and have continued to believe until now that you were _invited_ into my home?”

 

“Are you saying you didn’t?” Bofur asked innocently, but his eyes twinkled with mischief.  Bilbo harrumphed and rolled back over so that he was snuggled up to Bofur like a spoon and pulled at his arm until it was wrapped around Bilbo’s chest.  The inevitable lassitude after orgasm was pulling him down again, and all he wanted to do with his friend now was sleep.

 

“Just for that you’re not getting your hat back,” he told Bofur, and he closed his eyes.

 

“As long as I get another go in the morning, you can keep the hat,” Bofur replied.

 

“I’ll make a point of it,” Bilbo murmured sleepily.

 

“This is almost as good as the other,” Bofur said quietly behind him as he held Bilbo snugly to him.  “If I’m not careful, I’ll be the one with the _kurdu abùghud_.”

 

Bilbo was too drowsy to roll over entirely, but he did crane his head to look at Bofur over his shoulder.

 

“I don’t want to do that to you, Bofur,” he said.  “Do you really...”

 

But Bofur shushed him.  “It’s a gift, and it’s not one I’d turn down if it happened,” he said.  “The _kurdu abùghud_...a fluttering heart is what makes life worth living.  I’d rather be dead than so hardened I never risked my heart.”  Bilbo thought about that a while.

 

“I suppose I would as well,” he said as he lay his head down again.  “Really, that’s what Gandalf saved me from when he brought all of you to my door—from calcifying in place as I sat.  I was halfway there, I think.”

 

“Admit it,” Bofur said.  “We’re the best thing that ever fell through your door.”

 

“You were,” Bilbo agreed readily.  “I never would have seen Elves if I hadn’t gone with you.”  He began to giggle, and Bofur snorted.

 

“I’m going to tell Thorin you said that,” he said.

 

“What’s the worst he can do?” Bilbo asked.  “He’s already tried to throw me out of the mountain once.”  They were quiet for a moment.

 

“I told you it was a little bit funny,” Bofur said after a bit.

 

“It’s only funny when I say it,” Bilbo replied complacently.

 

“Oh, that’s killed it,” Bofur told him.  “No chance for the _kurdu abùghud_ now.  And I’ll have to keep my hat; thank you.  It’s all funnier with the hat.”

 

“I already knew it wasn’t the same without the braids, anyway,” Bilbo said.  “Good night, Bofur.”

 

“Good night, _kurdu emnith_ ,” Bofur said and hugged him gently.

 

“It’s terribly impolite to say all these things in Khuzdul when I can’t speak it, you know,” Bilbo said, and it was.  He would be quite testy about it if he weren’t so warm and sleepy.  “What does that mean:  _kurdu emnith_?  It’s not like the _kurdu abùghud_ , is it?”

 

“It means—hmm.  ‘ _That which cheers my heart_ ,’ I guess,” Bofur said.  _Oh_...  the corners of Bilbo’s mouth lifted into a contented smile.

 

“That’s quite the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he said.  “And I would say the same, truly; that’s what you are to me as well.”

 

“Better than the _kurdu abùghud_ ,” Bofur said.

 

“It is,” Bilbo agreed.  “I think it is.”


End file.
